Tyrant
by Lear's Fool
Summary: The Warden didn't need cameras to keep the campers in line...she used her own son as a spy. Meet Jeryl Walker, the C-Tent overseer of Camp Green Lake.
1. Trumpet

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrummm!_

I didn't just hear that. It's all in my imagination. Just go back to sleep, Jeryl, it's just a-

_BAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRUMMMM!_

dream.

Damnit. _Why _don't wishes EVER come true? I had been awake for hours, just resting in my cot, letting my dead sore muscles relax, praying for that sound not to come. But, no, it still came. There was the morning trumpet. My own personal nightmare alarm clock, set to ring at 4:00 A.M. What more could a guy possibly ask for?

I ran my fingers through my red hair and did my best to get out of bed without damaging my back. When you've been digging five-foot holes as long as I have, you get all kinds of pain, but learn to avoid it. My legs felt like lead, I couldn't get my eyelids off of my eyes, my shoulders were sore and sagging, and my back was still trying to keep me standing. But my back failed, and I ended up falling forward into my cot again. On the whole, I felt as good as anyone could in this damned desert.

I closed my eyes and suddenly felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Jeryl, man, wake up," a tough but quiet voice said.

I groaned even louder. "C'mon, Tramp, go away," I said, my dull voice muffled by my pillow. I really wanted to do what he said, but I couldn't. Without my head burried in my pillow, I'd be able to hear the trumpet again. Even though the entire place is torture, I'm afraid of that trumpet more than I'm afraid of the yellow spotted lizards. That sound just keeps reminding me of where I am; it interrupts my dreams of my old life.

So I just groaned while my friend began to shake me. "Jeryl, come on, dude, we've got to go dig, they're all waking up," said Tramp, his voice more urging and tough. I knew Tramp well enough to see past his masks, but I also knew I had to get out of bed. I listened closely for the trumpet, but all I heard was silence. With effort, I pulled myself out of my cot, and let gravity pull my feet to the floor.

I couldn't see too well, I never can when I first wake up. I felt a bit dizzy as usual, and could just barely see Tramp's face in front of me. I must have been swaying or something, 'cause he grabbed my shoulders and shook me awake. I blinked. Much better, even if it was still dark as space. I tell you, there are times when I just want to kill my my mom, or at least my great grandpa for putting so much pressure on her. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be waking up this early.

Tramp was walking over to the compartments and grabbing our jumpsuits. As he tossed me mine, I took a glance around the cabin. Jolt was already up and groggy, Tentacle was helping Sweatsock out of his bed, and Blubber was punching Earplug on the back: his own agressive way of trying to wake the semi-deaf guy up.

I began to pull on my jumpsuit as Tramp walked back from the compartments, staring at me.

I glanced up at him through my red mop of hair. "What?" I snapped. I know I shouldn't have, Tramp can be a dangerous guy. Thankfully, he and I are close, and he knows I'm not a morning person.

Tramp just gave me one of his one-sided smirks. "Jeryl, you're putting the suit on backwards,"

I glanced down (which just about killed my neck) and realized that he was right. Ugh, great, more work for me. But I had to smile back at him. "Man, how could I survive without you checking up on me like my grandma?" I joked.

Tramp gave me that one cornered smile, as if to say "You couldn't". He was the one guy in this camp who could make me smile, and vice versa.

The "camp" I'm talking about is a juvenile detention center, aka: Hell, aka: Camp Green Lake. Now, I'm no criminal, but I'm here anyway. When you've got a mom whose greed is as burning as the earth's core, you end up inside her plot. Yeah, I know, my mom sounds like one satan's wife, but after all she's been through, you couldn't really expect her to grow up into June Cleaver.

I guess the state thinks Camp Green Lake is a good idea, I mean, how could any delinquent withstand eighteen months of digging five foot holes in the hot desert sun all day and go back home unchanged? Yeah, that's what they thought, I'm sure. Well, someone just needs to knock their heads together, because these kids don't soften up and become afraid. They harden and can take on anything else you throw at them. When they've been through here, there's nothing you can do to them anymore that they can't handle. That's how bad this torcher desert really is.

Jolt saw us grinning and stormed over to Tramp. "You two are the saddest pair of idiots I ever knew. Ya gotta be pretty damned stupid to find a way to smile at four AM in this dump," he said in a cold tone.

I felt myself shrink back, but just a little. Jolt's big and tough looking enough to make you do that on instinct. I knew he was just being his usual angry self. Jolt only smiles when we're making fun of the councilors or some other kid. He hates this camp so much that he doesn't even like to see others having a bit of fun. That's probably why he comes down so hard on me and Tramp. We're best friends, and real close. Not something you come around too often at Green Lake.

The smiling corner of Tramp's mouth had gone down, and he was now giving Jolt one of his famous stares. His face held absolutely no emotion, yet you could feel his empty eyes blaring through you. "Actually, I'd say we were the lucky ones," he replied flatly. "At least we can still enjoy ourselves a bit, unlike some guys who are too damn thick to let a joke get by."

Jolt's electric blue eyes seemed to spark with fury. That's pretty much how he got his nickname. He took two steps closer to Tramp, who held his ground. I don't know why I always get scared by this. It's almost part of the morning routine. But Jolt looked madder than usual...Tramp must have hit a nerve.

"You," Jolt said, in a kind of deadly whisper. "are a worthless piece of street trash, and if you're gonna insult me, ya better have some good defenses up your sleeves."

Tramp kept up that stare, but I stopped dead. No one deserves that. No one's worthless, no matter where you come from.

To my relief, Tentacle suddenly stepped in between the two, his patented smile on his face. "Calm it, Jolt," he said smoothly. "We're already late. You two starting a fight aint gonna help anythin'. " Then he turned to me, and laughed. "Ya know, Tyrant," he said, smiling big. "your freckles sure do flare out whenever your scared or mad."

Everyone but Jolt laughed, and I was pretty sure the freckles on my cheeks were flaring again. They tend to do that when I'm embarrassed, too.

Tyrant, that's what they call me, it's my nickname. Not because I'm the leader, or bossy or anything, but because of my hair. The guys all know my mom, or the Warden, as a tyrant, and they couldn't help but notice that she and I have the exact same shade of red hair. It's almost scary how identical the colors are. None of them suspect anything; the hair and freckles are the only things I inherited from my mom. Because they used to call her Tyrant, they call me Tyrant now. Only Tramp ever calls me by my real name; Jeryl.

I guess I should introduce you to C-Tent. Starting with Jolt. His real name's Nick, but we call him Jolt because of his eyes and lightning blonde hair. He's big and muscular, and real intimidating. He comes from a wealthy family, but I don't think Jolt ever realized what he really had. I doubt he knows how hard street kids have it. I doubt he knows how hard my family has always had it.

Tentacle's real name is Terrence. He's a real good looking and persuasive guy, with smooth light brown hair and dark eyes. He's an average height guy, just a bit taller than me. His name's Tentacle because of his fingers; real long flexible. He can roll a poker chip between his them. That's what he got arested for; illegal gambling and shoplifting. I heard a rumor that he almost talked himself out of his jail sentence to the judge. I wouldn't be surprised if it was true.

Blubber is our newer member in C-Tent. His name's only blubber because of the tatoo of a whale on his shoulder. He's a tall, lean kid, almost as tall as Jolt and Earplug. Blubber's not exactly my favorite guy in the camp; he's always acting tough, but doesn't have a single grey cell in his head. As far as I know, he was arrested for beating up some fifth grader. Just like him to take on a guy probably half his size.

Sweatsock's a lazy complainer, small with skin sunburned to hell and orangish-blonde hair. Sweatsock's his name because after the first day he went out to dig, his socks were dripping wet. He was part of a gang of pool hustlers before he got arrested for it. It's easy to see why; the kid looks at least three years younger than he is, I'm sure people thought he was no threat. Sweatsock is like the baby of our C-Tent family. But, judging from the fact that my mom put him in C-Tent under her spy, me, I wouln't be surprised if she suspected him of tricking the other campers into letting him get off easy.

It seems like every tent has their own psycopath. Earplug's ours. He's just a bit shorter than Jolt, with a kind of fatter build. He's semi-deaf, so he can't always hear you correctly. He could be talking randomly about birds and butterflies one minute and kicking your ass for spilling milk the next. Once he tore up another guy's cot for putting a hat on his bed. I had almost laughed at Blubber's stupidity for trying to wake Earplug up by slugging him. Luck's the only thing thats keeping Blubber standing right now; Earplug could have taken him at a moment's notice.

Tramp's last, but anything but least. He's my best friend, and probably the only other guy with morals in this camp. Tamp's a few inches taller than me, with a lean, panther-like build, pale skin, and shaggy, shoulder-length black hair that's shorter at the sides of his face, sometimes falling over his eyes in wisps. His eyes are narrow, glinting with a solid black color and ringed with dark lashes that would make him look kind of handsome if his appearance weren't so messed up and...well..._haunting_. His nickname's Tramp because when he first came here, he literally looked like one. Kind of the combination between a gangster and a street bum; the silver dragon earring in his left ear makes him look a bit more like a hood. I'm pretty sure he was living on the streets before he came; but he won't tell me anything about his past, and I know better than to ask about it. I'm not sure if he has a real name. He wouldn't tell it to Wasp, and I read his file; all it had in their was his last name; Johnson. Too common to trace.

I can be completely honest in saying that when Tramp first came to Green Lake, I was dead scared of him. He was just so damn quiet, and whenever he looked at you, his eyes were just blank. Empty. That emotionless stare had always scared me to hell, and whenever I had tried to talk to him, it was what I got. He didn't seem to like anyone, or care about anything. So I did my best to avoid him, to dodge him whenever I could. I never went anywhere near him, until one day...well, I saved his life.

Tramp suddenly tapped my shoulder. "Jeryl," he said, in a soft voice so the others wouldn't hear him usng my name. (It's kind of like a law here at camp; don't _ever _call a camper by his real name unless he hasn't got a nickname yet, or as an insult)

"Jeryl, come on, we gotta go,"

I blinked. Oh great, I just dropped off again, falling asleep with my eyes open. I can do that, I mean we have to get up at four AM every day. Thank god we don't keep track of Daylight Savings Time, I'd be dead. Slowly, I lifted my feet and dragged myself out of the door, one arm on Tramp's shoulder to steady myself.

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**Well, there's chapter one. Is it ok so far? The idea of the warden's son being a spy just kind of came to me, and I've been wanting to write it for a while. I don't think it's been done before, and I'm getting real sick of the Green Lake Girl stories. There just seem to be way too many of them! Hehe, I don't meen to pick on anyone, I just think they're done a bit too often.**

**Well, don't forget to review! Locket out.**


	2. Sir and Wasp

Thanks to all reviewers, you keep me writing!

**Kiana Ravens - **I know, I think the entire first page on stories only about the girls; there were two or three other kinds of stories. Kind of sad in a way. I'm glad you liked it! Hehe, yeah, when I finished writing it I was so excited that I diddn't re-read it, and probably missed a few mistakes. Oooh, jog my memory, what does a beta writer do again? I'm sorry, I forgot.

**Nosilla **– Thanks! I'm glad you like it so far. Oh, that? Well, if I had wanted to tell you in that chapter, I would have just written it in, wouldn't I? ;) I like getting readers curious.

**Ashlight **– I'm glad you liked it! Yeah, since Jeryl is a spy, you'll probably hear a lot about the other tents, but I don't think D-Tent will be mentioned any more than the other tents until I get to a part in the story that will be crucial to the outcome, but I'm not going to give that away:) I know, I hate to do that too, but I'm trying to be realistic. I don't think the Warden would've considered D-Tent a threat at first. By the way, Jeryl's nickname is Tyrant, that was mentioned in a paragraph right before he introduces C-Tent.

**FlaggerDagger **– Thanks, glad you think so! I got really tired with seeing the whole first page of Holes fics being girl stories. I really liked the idea of a spy. (Yeah, I'm _sure_ the Warden had secret cameras and microphones hidden all over a juvenile delinquent camp in the middle of the desert, I mean, I'm _sure_ it would have just been _impossible_ for Pendanski or Mr. Sir to just inform her of all the camper's nicknames)

**kilver w0lf **– Thanks! Hehe…didn't mean to offend anyone. Actually, I like where your story's going!

Well, here's chapter two. Hope you enjoy.

The pain in my back started to go away as I leaned on Tramp's shoulder. How his dark eyes could look so alert at 4 A.M., I'll never know.

"Jeryl," he whispered suddenly. "Get up. It's Wasp."

Tramp quickly freed himself of my arm. I gave a little groan, but stood up straight. Tentacle, Jolt, Sweatsock, Blubbler and Tramp did too; it took a few minutes for Earplug to remember. The last thing that any of us wanted was the cane.

Mr. Wasp is the C-Tent councilor, a short and fat drunk with a pug face and glasses way too small for his eyes. We like to call him Bumble, because of his last name he kind of reminds us of a fat bumble bee. But he's a dangerous guy, too, no matter how arrogant and stupid he is. He always carries around a hooked, wooden cane, that he likes to string our necks through when we get our of line. I know that Wasp wouldn't ever do that to me; my mom gave him orders not to touch me (due to my 'dangerous mental conditions and wealthy, powerful family'. Don't I have such a creative mother?).

Wasp came swaggering over, obviouly drunk. "Wae-ell, lookie wha' we 'ave 'ere," he grated, his fat jiggling a bit as he swayed from side to side. Even the sight of the idiot made me want to hurl.

"Ma favorite taent," Bumble said, slurring his words together. "Wa-ell, c-boys, time to dig! Lahn up, for yer shovels! C'mon!" He took out his cane and gave each of us a good hit on the back in order of how he wanted us to line up. Blubber gave him a glare and Jolt swore under his breath. And me, well I just wanted to knock his beer bottle over his head. Tramp just kept quiet.

Mr. Sir, head councilor of the whole camp, was standing next to a wooden shed, labled "library". His beady eyes focused on each of the campers in turn, but I noticed that when they landed on C-Tent, they looked especially alert. "I think you know the drill boys," he barked when we came to the front of the line. "What the hell are you standing around for?"

We all jumped a bit. I think I saw Sweatsock's eyes bulge out. Our tent just isn't a morning tent. All of us groaning, we passed through the line, each of us grabbing a shovel, starting with Tentacle.

When I grabbed mine, I could feel Mr. Sir's eyes blaring through me with anger. I know he doesn't trust me. The Warden, or my mom, told him to lay off of me too, using the same excuse that she did for Bumble. He probably doesn't believe her, and thinks that she just likes to give me some special treatment. Jealous asshole, he should have at least noticed our hair colors. I mean, it can't be too hard to figure out, can it? Do I look like an insane rich kid? Hell no! Why else would she give me special treatment unless she was related to me? Sometimes I'm not sure who I hate most; Wasp or Sir. Wasp is so stupid, and Mr. Sir is...well, the same, actually.

C-Tent started the walk to the holes, following Mr. Sir as he got in his truck. I ran up next to Tramp in front of me, whose eyes had been blankly staring at the sky ahead. I could tell he was thinking about something, he gets that look whenever his mind's occupied. I stared at him, trying to guess what he was thinking about, knowing better than to ask. As it turned out, I didn't have to.

"Why does he hate you so much?" he asked suddenly.

"Who?" I asked, a bit confused.

"Mr. Sir." He didn't turn to look at me, and I could see in his eyes the boy that was far too young to have toughened and seen as much as he had. Tramp doesn't miss a thing; he just understands me. I've always wondered where he came from, why he got sent to Camp Green Lake, and what he had seen in his life that gave his eyes that haunting look.

"Oh, him. Well, on the first day I came to camp, I kinda sassed him, if you know what I mean. I guess he's hated me ever since," I lied. I'm a good liar cause I can think really quick.

But Tramp wasn't fooled. He turned to me, my really light brown eyes meeting his black ones. "I know you better than that, Jeryl," he said, smiling. His frown's just so different from his smile; that one cornered smile that made me feel so lucky to have a friend. "You wouldn't sass anyone you don't know, especially not a guy who looks like Sir. You would've been to scared."

My freckles flared; I really have no idea how to blush. Tramp laughed. "God, Jeryl, you have no idea what kind of giveaway your freckles are."

I laughed with him, dragging my shovel behind me. Jolt turned back just to glare at us, but we both ignored him. I didn't want to let Jolt get in the way of one of my day's happy moments.

Tramp really does understand me. He's right; I wouldn't sass anyone I don't know and, sure as hell, I was dead scared of Mr. Sir when I first met him. The only people I can ever sass are my friends; like Tramp, and Dad, and Emily...

I felt an immediate pang of pain in my head. _Oh, god damnit, Jeryl, why'd you go and think that? _I thought, mentally kicking myself. _There's nothing you can do about it, just get them out of your head..._

I felt Tramp's eyes on me, and I was thankful when he didn't say anything. Dust from Mr. Sir's tires blew in my face as his truck came to a stop, indicating where he wanted us to dig.

"Well," Sweatsock sighed. "At least the sun's not out."

Earplug glanced back at him, blank confusion in his eyes. "Why don't you like the sun?" he questioned. "The sun helps the flowers grow."

"Not here, it don't," Blubber muttered under his breath. Fortunately for him (but to my displeasure), Earplug didn't hear him.

Jolt jammed his shovel into the ground. "Well," he said decisively. "Let's start diggin'."

By the time the sun came up, I already had about a forth of my hole done. I'm the fastest digger in the tent; with Earplug right behind me. I've always been proud of it; especially because I'm the smallest guy in the tent next to Sweatsock.

I glanced over at Tramp, whose digging was slow-going. I'm pretty sure he could be a lot faster if he wanted to, but I always see him stopping to think. He likes to take his time.

It was almost lunchtime, and I could feel my freckles multiplying in the beating sun. I don't get sunburned, or tanned; just freckled. I looked up from my hole and searched the horizon for the sight of Mr. Sir's truck, holding the lid of my orange cap. Oh, there his is, he looked like he was stopping at A-Tent's digging site. I realized, with relief, that I still had a few drops of water in my canteen left, just in case Mr. Sir decided that he didn't want me to have any more water. He had done that once, but I think my mom punished him, claiming that the 'campers couldn't dig without water, and might not keep their eyes open for it'.

An image of my mother waving a sharp nailed finger at Sir came floating into my mind, and I wondered again why I listened to her. Why did I agree to come out here in the blazing hot sun, digging a five foot hole every damn day? And how could I call her my mother; when in the two years I had lived with her, she barely showed that she even cared?

But I knew the answer to that question. I had always known it.

It was because she was all that I had left.

The thoughts about my mother kept my mind occupied while Mr. Sir's truck came up to C-Tent's dig site. But it was Mr. Wasp who stepped out the door, and to my relief, he looked reasonably sober. I hurriedly jumped out of my hole and ran for the first place in line that I could get.

"He doesn't look too bad today, does he?" I asked Tramp in front of me, referring to Wasp's soberness in a whisper.

Tramp shook his head. "No," he replied quietly. "I guess he got a nap."

Blubber, who had been eavesdropping on our conversation behind me, snorted. "Huh, I wouldn't be surprised if Bumble don't do nothin' but lie around and drink all day, he's got the body to prove it."

I couldn't help but laugh at the joke, but I felt Tramp tense and keep quiet. He can get a bit touchy on these subjects, I don't know why. But then again, I get touchy on the subjects about my mom, and even I have no idea why. She deserves every word the campers say about her.

"But yeah," Blubber continued in a whisper as the line moved up. "Wasp does look better. Ya think he'll go easy on us today?"

"Doubt it," I whispered back; the line was now up to Tramp and I didn't need Bumble listening in on this convo.

I got a closer look at Wasp, and he looked pretty normal. Usually when he's sober he's still arrogant, stupid, and commanding, but he keeps his voice level to a minimum, and his southern drawl is much more tolerable. I never got the Texan accent myself; living in Montana as long as I had.

The line eventually came to me and Wasp reached for my canteen. As I handed it to him, he surprised me by not filling it. Instead, he just smirked at me, enjoying watching me pant for water.

"Ya know, Tyran', I coun't never see why these kids called you Tyran'." I was Sahara desert thirsty, but all he did was hold my canteen in his hand, a smirk on his face. Leaving me a bit dumbstruck, he continued. "It ain' like yer the most bossy kid in the camp."

I felt my throat becoming dryer by the second as he delayed filling my canteen even longer. I heard Blubber and Sweatsock groan behind me, and felt Tramp's eyes watching the scene intently, but all I could do was stare at Bumble, who was still talking.

"But then again, mayhap they call ya Tyrant 'cause yer the king of crime." he said, his smirk now filled with triumph.

For a second I forgot my thirst as the meaning of these words hit me. The _**king** _of **_crime_?** Moi? Damn, what kind of excuse did my mom make up this time?

Before I could think about the question any further, Wasp grabbed my shoulder with a pudgy hand and barked at me. "Come on boy, the Warden wants ta have a word wit ya." He dragged me by the shoulder into his truck, slamming me head-first into the passenger's seat. "Let's go!"

I sat up disgustedly as Wasp put a foot on the gas pedal, and I saw all of C-Tent staring at me in shock through the window. Tramp, however, didn't look surprised at all.


	3. Home and Hell

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed; you people keep me writing! (I can't reply to everybody, so I'll just respond to the people who have questions.

Kiana Ravens – Hehe, don't worry, no offense taken. Hmmm, beta sounds like a good idea actually. I'll have to think about it, see I don't usually give out my e-mail. Sorry, information about things like Emily is _strictly forbidden_, **muahahaha**:) Sorry, moment of hyper-activity, I had a lot of sugar this morning.

By the way, I just wanted to get this cleared up: This story is parallel to _Holes_. The things that happen in Holes will also happen in this fic, but I will _not_, in any way, change the original story. Things with D-Tent will remain the same, but some events will occur that do not show up in the book or movie. But those events will not tamper with the original. I like the book and movie just fine the way that they are.

Well, on with the show. I don't own D-Tent, the Warden, Mr. Sir, or Camp Green Lake. I do own C-Tent and all of it's members, bla bla bla, you know the drill. Aqui estan capitulo tres! (Here is chapter three)

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"Hoho, wait'll you see what she's gonna do to ya, kid! The _real _Tyran' of Camp Lake Green's gonna beat you bad!"

Camp _Lake Green_? Damn, what the hell's wrong with this idiot?

"The Warden says tha' she caught you sneakin' into her cabin last night," Wasp drawled gleefully. We had just arrived back at the camp's base. He was dragging me by my collar, obviously quite proud of himself for taking me in. Bumble just looooooooooves bringing kids to the Warden.

I kept my mouth shut, impatiently waiting for my mom's newest story. I've got to admit, she's pretty imaginative and I like hearing her excuses. You know the phrase 'digging to build character'? That's one of my mother's many twisted ideas.

"She says she caught you an' one of your little delinquen' friends who she didn' see, stealin' one o' her bras, an' were plannin' on hanging it up on the flag post fer all the campers ta see!" Bumble announced, speaking in a slow whisper for dramatic effect.

I snorted so loud that I could have made a rattlesnake jump. I literally had to bite my tongue until it bled to keep from laughing.

Wasp gave me a murderous look. "Ho, ya think that's funny, do ya?" he barked. When I didn't answer, he stared me straight in the eye, causing me to step back a bit. I'm a complete coward.

"Well, let's see 'ow ard yer laughin' when ya come out o' that door with one nostril an' a bleedin' eye!"

With that, Bumble threw me onto the ground, right in front of my mother's doorstep, and left with mirthless laughter.

I got up hastily and rolled my eyes. Staring at the door in front of me, I took a deep breath and knocked on the door; bracing myself for whatever my mom had to tell me. Three knocks, with two seconds in between each. And then, without a warning, the woman I knew as my mother opened the door. She glanced around quickly, checking to make sure that no one was watching and then put her hand on my back, pushing me inside. "Get in," she whispered gruffly.

My mother is a tall, pretty woman, and like me has red hair and freckles. That's as far as the resemblance goes. Her eyes are a sharp blue, and mine are a weird kind of light sand brown, almost like they match the dirt that covers the camp. I was born with my dad's natural tan under my freckles (you know, the kind of tan that you're born with and never gets any darker), but my mom's skin is your typical fair. She's got a classical nose, mine's a bit small, and obviously it'll take a while for me to get up to her height. But probably what I would say is the biggest difference is the fact that we each have a different overall expression in our faces. Tramp once told me that at first glance, I would come off as observant and cautious, but trustworthy. But looking at my mother now, she's got a completely different look to her face. Her blue eyes are sharp and quick and suspicious, and her mouth is always pressed into either a thin, hard line, or a seductive smile. If it weren't for the hair, you probably wouldn't even think that my mother and I were distant relatives.

She walked over to the refrigerator on the other side of the little table right across from me. My mom's house is small and has the classical feel of a lakehouse, with screen windows and old fashioned furniture.

"Here, drink this," she said suddenly. My mother opened the refrigerator door and handed me a glass of fresh water. I took it from her and sipped it, savoring the sweet taste of purified water. (She keeps one of those Brita thingys.) My mother poured a glass for herself and took a large gulp. Unlike me, she drank the filtered water every day, and had no reason to drink it slowly.

When I was finished, I noticed that my mom was searching through a stack of papers on the wooden table. Without even looking at me, she began to speak.

"We're having that vacancy in D-Tent filled. A new boy will be coming tomorrow." she said.

I definitely a bit surprised. My neck jerked up from my glass, which I had been gazing intently at. "We are?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the papers, not even bothering to look at me. "Yes. His name is...Yelnats. Stanley Yelnats."

"What's he in for?" I asked curiously. Something about his name sounded familiar, like I had heard about it in some history class. But I never paid attention, and I've got a lousy memory for stuff like that.

My mother's sharp blue optics scanned the paper she was holding. "Apparently he robbed a pair of shoes from a homeless shelter."

"That's it?" I asked, stunned. That was probably the most minimal crime I'd ever heard of at Green Lake.

"No. The shoes belonged to Clyde Livingston."

I spat out the water in my mouth and nearly dropped my glass. I didn't see _that _coming.

"_The _Clyde Livingston?"

My mother nodded shortly.

I blinked with wide eyes. Whoa. A kid who somehow nabbed my hero's shoes, _here _at camp. I used to be a complete baseball nut at home; it was the one sport I could actually play well. I almost asked how this Stanley kid got away with the crime, but I kept my mouth shut when I remembered who I was talking to.

Her head was still down, her eyes skimming over the papers. Knowing that she wouldn't do me the courtesy of glancing at me, I watched her intently, with a strange feeling. You know, like when you've got something nagging you at the back of your mind, but it's just so far off in your memory that you can barely hear it? It seemed to be something about--

"Mom," I said suddenly. "Didn't you and Dad see that game where Livingston hit four triples? You know, when I was little?"

When I said those words, she stopped looking at the papers, but kept her eyes down. She pressed her lips together tightly, and I knew that I had touched a nerve. I really didn't mean to, I was surprised to even hear those words exit my mouth.

My mom's attitude is always the same around me; clipped and business-like. Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers that she has a son. Around me, she keeps her sentences short and to-the-point. When I first came here, all I wanted was a mother. I got an employer instead.

But this time was different. For one thing, I called her mom. Normally when I have to address her, I call her "ma'am", or something like that. I try to speak to her as little as possible, just to avoid naming her. Another thing, I asked her about the past. The one thing that my mother is truly afraid of.

Her eyes were set on the table in front of her, I could tell she was determined not to look at me. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly, but I could still see them tremble. Her face was filled with so many emotions at once; pain, fury, shock, hope; yet somehow it remained completely straight. But I could feel them radiating off of her, and it scared me. It always scares me.

Still refusing to look at me, she spoke, her voice becoming monotone, but trembling ferociously. "It's been long enough," she said, her tone a bit louder. "Get back out to your hole, your councilor will be suspicious."

_Wasp? Huh, he'll just think you're giving me an extra beating_. That's what I thought, but I didn't say it. I couldn't have said anything, due to the fact that I had temporarily lost my voice. I hate seeing my mother like this. She may not treat me like a son, and she may not care about me, but I love her. All I've ever wanted was my dad back, and my mom to go home to him. But that's nothing more than a dream. I'll never have a real family.

I had half a mind to open my mouth and say everything in my head, but I didn't have the guts. So instead, I turned around, feeling morbid and lost.

She was quiet, until she suddenly let out her voice. "By the way," she said, still shaky, but back to the business tone. "You got a letter from that girl."

Immediately my depression vanished. Instead, I felt jumpy and excited. It had been two weeks since I last heard from Emily. (Not surprising, the mail doesn't get here all too quick)

I spun around, trying to contain my happiness. "She did? Where is it?"

My mom's eyes were clouded over, as if she had something else on her mind. Wordlessly she handed me a small but stuffed envelope, the address written in Emily's messy scrawl.

I sped out of the room, ripping open the envelope. Damn, did she ever write alot. Emily had stuffed a whole three pages into the envelope. Then again, she does have big handwriting.

_Hey Jeryl!_

_God, Montana is boring as hell without you here. Get this: Angelina has no one to trip up for with you gone. Insted, she's taken to starring at your picture in her locker. I swear, that girl has problems. (No ofense or anything...hehehe...)_

_We are experiencing just a bit too much rain. Okay, when I say 'a bit too much' I mean that the Peck Dam had problems keeping in all the water. Even dride up Glasgow is getting some heavy rain. The school had a mud fight yesterday, and Lerman had a fit. Her hair was dripping with dirt by the time we were throgh with her. Oh, you should have been there. But don't worry; that was the only intresting event that's happened recently._

_At the moment I am putting of my history homework. I'm completely lost without your tutoring. Who the hell is Samuel Jackson again? HELP. ME. OUT. Phil offered to help me with my studyng, and I had no choice but to say yes to him. Don't wory though, Jer. Your un-replaceble (is that a word?)._

I smiled at Emily's spelling mistakes. She was never any good at subjects like Science, Grammar, Algebra, or History. I suck at the first three too, but I could help her with History without a problem. All of our teachers thought she was dumb. She's not dumb. She just prefers theory to fact. I remember when I told her that I was going to move. She was sad, and then she looked at my eyes. I remember her exact words.

"_You know, Jeryl, I think you're gonna be fine in Texas._"

"_Why?_" I had asked, stunned.

"_I'm not sure...I guess it's because your eyes are the color of sand. If you're gonna live in the desert, then it's almost like your eyes match where you're going...like it's your destiny._"

I remember just staring at her, shell-shocked. She went on.

"_If your eyes could tell the future, then you must be going to Texas for a reason. Somebody must need you down there. I think you're gonna be fine._"

Those words still stick with me. I remember wondering if she was right. I wondered if there really was someone who needed me. I still think about that.

There was more to the letter, and as I read it, I could almost feel Emily's intense emotions that she had while writing it.

_Ok, Jeryl, there is something I need to talk to you about. I know that your not being completly honest with me about what goes on in Texas. Do you and your mom get along okay? Have you made new freinds? Is school going well?_

_I'm not sure why you don't want to tell me the truth (and yes, I can tell that your lyng to me. I know you better than to beleve you), but I just want to let you know that it's ok. Its entirly your desision whether you want to tell me or not. I just hope your ok, and I want you to know also that I care about you. I miss you a hole lot._

I was almost to the C-Tent dig site when I read the last bit of the letter. Her handwriting was shaky in this part, and I could feel her fear as I read it.

_I went to see your dad today_. _He's no better, no worse. I'm not gonna lye to you Jer; I dont think theres much of a chance of him waking up. The doctors wont say anything; I dont think they want to see the truth._

_Jeryl, I know that if he could, your dad woud miss you so much. I know that I do._

_Love always,_

_Emily _


End file.
